


Homecoming

by teawater



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Exorcisms, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Reincarnation, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 08:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17577452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teawater/pseuds/teawater
Summary: "Will I be reborn for you?"glitterburn, The Curse of KuwanaHe was.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, General Zargon.

"Will I be reborn for you?"

glitterburn, _The Curse of Kuwana_

 

It got dark really early.

He was surprised at how surprised he was. Never realized so many years had passed that he’d forgotten how early it gets dark here in September. He’d barely had time to get off the train and reach his new accommodation when the night fell.

The night was fresh and glittered wet from a recent rain that he’d just missed as he was walking out of the train station. He missed other things as well, although in another meaning of the word, so he treated himself to some snacks and sweets that no other country quite figured out how to make and why.

He breathed in the sweet scent of the wet pavement. Here of all places the wet pavement smelled sweet, something he could never understand, although perhaps he was just being sentimental.

Not that this place held many sweet memories for him, he thought. Except it did, he corrected himself. And he kept coming back to the ever-changing and yet never-changing little puzzle piece of his identity.

He stopped at the front entrance to the house and for a few moments just enjoyed the silence after listening to the rattling of his suitcase wheels on the pavements all the way from the station. It had taken him about an hour to walk here, and he could’ve taken the bus, but he wanted to experience the place with more attention than a bus window view would allow. This visit was special, he reminded himself. Not that he knew in what way it was special exactly, just knew that it was.

Something was going to happen this time. It wasn’t just running from boredom and hiding from the inevitable curiosity of state institutions that drove him to return here this time. Perhaps his future would be decided this time. Perhaps his past would get a review. Perhaps a fire would be rekindled or extinguished for good. Perhaps his life would matter, for once. Perhaps his presence would be needed.

The house was old, but recently renovated, and rather spacious as houses go in this land. Compared to the mansion he’d had back in Rio, this was a burrow, while the annual rent could buy him a whole village in Cambodia. Not that he needed much space, his small, conveyor belt beaten suitcase containing all of his worldly possessions.

“Well, it’s a home,” he muttered to himself and stepped through the gates.

 

In a few days those gates got an update: a sign in white paint over dark wood advertising good-luck charms and fortune-telling services. The calligraphy was striking, if a bit old-fashioned, but then, that just added a patina of _ad antiquitatem_.

“You should check out our fortune-teller neighbour,” one girl was telling another at a table squished in the corner of Moss Burger in Imadegawa. “He can see right through people, I’m telling you! And he’s a cutie, and very well-mannered,” she giggled, obviously having a flashback of the encounter.

“Gay?” asked her friend in a bored tone.

“Probably,” the first one shrugged, her cheer fading somewhat. “Not that I care,” she added pointedly after some thought. “You need to try being more open-minded, seeing as you’re going to Europe soon…”

“Oh I don’t care who he shags,” her friend interrupted exasperatedly, “so long as it’s not me. Get enough harassment at work.”

“You really need to see him,” the first one started over. “He’s so good at telling which relationships will work out and which won’t. I bet he’ll help you find someone!”

The other girl chuckled cynically, but didn’t argue.

 

Mei raised her hand to ring the small, modern styled brass doorbell, but before she reached it, there was a chime and the low gates opened smoothly, admitting her to a small yard in front of the house. The front door stood ajar, even though she could swear it had been closed as she was having a final debate with herself before the gates.

She knocked anyway, feeling like she was trespassing. There was no answer, but the door opened wider and the light went on in the genkan.

“Hullo?” she called, looking around for a motion sensor. Instead, she saw that at the other end of the entranceway another door stood open, a white sheer curtain somewhat obscuring the sunlit courtyard. It was a nice change after travelling from the suburbs through an overcast day. On a whim, she crossed the entranceway and came out in the inner garden. It was an actual garden, a shock of blooming plants, and she wondered vaguely if she was going to be allergic to any, but she wasn’t very good at telling plants apart.

“Tea or coffee?” asked a deep voice on her right, and turning sharply, she saw a man fitting the affectionate description her friend had given her.

He looked to be thirtyish, tall, well-groomed, wearing an impeccably white chambray with the sleeves rolled-up and some wide light-grey trousers, bare toes peeking from underneath. His hair was jet back and longish, loosely tied back with an elastic band.

“Coffee, I should presume,” he surmised and went over to a coffee maker parked on a shelf along the outer wall of the house. His bare feet made no sound over the wooden deck. Mei realized she had been staring.

“Oh please, graciously forgive me,” she bowed, flustered. “It was so rude of me to come in like that…”

“I wouldn’t have let you in if I hadn’t meant to,” he replied, his attention still fully on the coffee maker. And then chuckled and shook his head a little, as if marvelling at a human peculiarity. “But do sit down. Your friend told you I was well-mannered, how sweet of her. I’m afraid I won’t live up to your expectations in that respect.”

“How do you know what my friend said?” Mei asked without thinking. “Did you tell her to say something to me?”

“Even if I did, she wouldn’t,” he shrugged, finally turning towards Mei and a small table on the deck, with a cup in his hand. “She genuinely cares about you and wouldn’t play pranks. I won’t harass you either, as you have guessed correctly,” he gave her the coffee and a mischievous smile and then sat on a chair at the table, but folded his legs as if sitting on the floor, which left his knees hanging precariously off the edges.

“You were eavesdropping at the burger shop?” she marvelled, not daring to join him at the table. The idea was both impressive and horrifying.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in there,” he moved his perfect eyebrows as if wondering why she would even mention that place. “It’s always so crowded. Anyway, what is it that you would like me to help you with?”

 

An hour later Mei left the strange host in a mixed mood. He’d refused to tell her future, claiming that she wouldn’t believe what he saw there anyway, and instead gave her a paper charm and some homework. Free of charge for the first visit. Passing by the nearest convenience store, she hooked up to the Wi-Fi and pulled up a scan of her job contract on her smart, all the time clutching the charm in a sweaty hand. The contract was the usual legalese and small font that never made sense to her, except now it suddenly did. The experience was eye-opening.

“Isn’t that illegal?” she gasped quietly, looking up and staring into space, trying to figure out if she was right and what to do about it. Her gaze fell on a sign of a small law-firm, advertising free labour law consultations on Sundays.

“Excuse me,” she piped, creaking open the glass door, which hit a wind chime hanging at the top.

“You are most welcome, Miss,” the young lawyer sprang to his feet, gesturing for her to come in. He was medium-height, sturdy and for some reason made her think of roast potato, which was such a contrast with the pale, ghostly beauty of the fortune-teller, it made her smile.

“I was wondering about the labour law consultation,” she said sheepishly.

She ended up getting that, then a new job, and a week later, an invitation to a shared shrine visit, which was concluded by having some roast potatoes at a street fair stall, which she found enormously funny, which led to a proper date, and the young lawyer never knew what she saw in him.

 

The fortune-teller flicked a bead on a Russian abacus, a gorgeous rosewood gift from an old customer back in Norilsk. The right side of the wire still had four beads — another four fortunes to read this month. He lay down on the deck and stretched out, like a cat, basking in the sunlight that only made it through the clouds over his garden.

_Neow-neow-jug._

He rolled his eyes. Honestly, on a Sunday?

_Wub-wub-wob-neow-drint._

He sighed. He’d given the landlord two written complaints about that noise already, and was starting to feel he missed his villa in Bosnia, where his neighbour solved a similar issue by firing a burst from his machine gun into the air. This was Japan, though, and if his landlord was too timid to do more than post a noise notice on the community board, the next step would be to go to the police, which he was bent on avoiding at all costs. Would it be too immature of him to simply curse the guy, or at least his hideous instrument under the name of ‘electric guitar’?

Resolutely, the fortune-teller got up and strode through the house, deciding that at his age he could afford to be a bit immature. Back in Rio he wouldn’t have minded, but this was Japan, it was supposed to be quiet. And he was local, after all, he had a right to dictate his preferences. He was far too old and dangerous to allow himself to be ignored by some teenager with a tin ear.

He barely remembered to put on some flip-flops when leaving through the gates, the weird sounds making his breath hitch and nostrils flare.

_Dittity-dittity-dittity-brawnnnn!_

It felt wrong. It _was_ wrong. It was even worse, for it wasn’t _entirely_ wrong, he realised. It wasn’t one of those alien noises young people of all ages available to humans listened to for the past thousand years or so. There was something in it that was _right_. And yet so much that was _wrong_. It teased him, bothered his soul, like one of those pictures of a face with two sets of eyes that you could never really focus on because you start processing it like it’s something familiar, and then it thwarts you.

Familiar. Yes, that was the problem. Those inane sounds were somehow, on some level, familiar. But not in a passed-by-a-shop-and-heard kind of way. It was something from a deep and dark past. From the times he never revisited. From the core of his heart that still bled when bothered. And to think that some silly _modern_ teenager would cause such a turmoil in his perfectly tranquil, age-wizened soul! He almost felt tears well up in his eyes, and thought they were tears of anger.

The house, which was the source of the sound, stood a couple blocks away, but noises travelled far in the quiet empty street. By the time he finally got to the door, the fortune-teller worked himself into quite a temper. He rang the doorbell.

The sounds ceased and in a bit the door was flung open.

“Hello?”

Not a teenager. A young man. Hair carefully unkempt, a purple, floral-patterned shirt over an undervest, the black and gold source of trouble clutched in his right hand.

The young man was even a little taller than himself, which was something the fortune-teller rarely got in Japan. He was being curiously looked down at by those round, warm brown eyes.

All breath was knocked out of him together with his resentment. Mutely, he nodded at the instrument.

“Oh,” the young man said, following his pointed look. “Am I bothering you?”

 _Yes,_ the fortune-teller thought, managing to pull in some air though his constricted throat, _you’re bothering me more than anything, ever._

“Funny sound,” he said, barely forming words. “Haven’t heard one of these up close. Do you mind if I listen in?”

The young man seemed to be taken aback with such a direct request, but tried hard to hide it.

“Sure, if you like. But I’m just practicing, it’s not very interesting.”

“Interesting enough to bring me from the other end of the street,” pointed out the fortune-teller.

“Oh,” the young man’s face brightened, as if he found an explanation for a strange phenomenon. “Are you from the esoteric shop?”

The other man nodded, and that seemed to satisfy the musician. Apparently, in his world, people from esoteric shops were allowed a certain level of eccentricity above mere human beings.

“Come in,” he invited, stepping aside. “I’m Tomomi.”

“Haruki,” offered the fortune-teller, realising that the musician took him for a peer.

He used the most recent iteration of his name: always keeping the general meaning, but never using the original sound. He wondered if _Tomomi_ did the same, and spent the time walking into the house deconstructing the name. It felt suspiciously close to the original.

Tomomi pulled out a couple beer tins from the fridge and sat down in his living room, working his fingers over the hideous, misshapen instrument that made a sound Haruki could only associate with screaming demons. The young man was obviously feeling awkward with an audience at his rehearsal, or whatever it was, and Haruki made a point of studying his beer, which was a standard convenience-shop brand. He’d had wines and liquors that cost more than some people’s lives, and yet this dubious liquid felt sweet and fresh on his tongue like none other, for the hand that had provided it.

The young man fidgeted and decided to go for a whole tune rather than practising separate pieces. Now, up close, it wrenched the soul out of Haruki. He wasn’t enjoying the peculiar sound of the guitar any more than back at his house, but the melody… the movements of those fingers… He’d know those anywhere. No matter how hard he tried to forget them over the years, all the same, in the darkest hour or in perfect delight, suddenly, his memory would punch him in the chest with a painful reminder of the one he’d lost. He was always able to push it back, stop thinking, clear his mind and move on, knowing that it was just a memory, something of no consequence, and he needed to get on with his life, and there were matters to take care of, and what’s the point of dwelling on affairs of a distant past… But now… This was for real. Here it was, his loss, staring at him with concern, and the music died out at some point without him noticing.

“Haruki? Are you OK?”

He shifted and gave a shuddered breath.

“Sure. Please don’t mind me.”

“But… it’s just…” Tomomi, no more eloquent than before, it would seem, pointed vaguely at his own face.

 _Was I staring?_ Haruki thought, but then felt suspicious moisture on his skin and urgently wiped at his eyes. He’d been weeping. No way. He hadn’t ever, not since…

“Sorry,” he stammered, “sorry. It, erm, brings back memories.”

“Ok,” Tomomi muttered, puzzled, but politely pretending it didn’t matter. “Would you like another beer?”

Haruki rocked the tin in his hand and found it to be empty.

“Yes, please,” he said quietly, and then in a sudden urge to make his pain even worse, suggested, “Can we go out on the deck?”

“This house doesn’t have a deck,” Tomomi replied, looking like he was regretting inviting this strange guest, but got up and produced another beer.

“Come to my place then,” Haruki insisted.

“Look, Haruki, I’m sorry, but I really need to rehearse. I get it that it’s a day off for most people, but I’m playing tomorrow and…”

“My courtyard has great acoustics,” Haruki interrupted, not recognising himself. “And you won’t bother any neighbours there, the soundproofing is quite good too. Please, I owe you for the beer anyway.”

Predictably, Tomomi didn’t argue much, preferring to accommodate the strange fan of his music and get the whole thing over with.

Haruki’s house turned out to be one of those luxury modern homes from a home décor magazine that looked like no one lived in them. It made Tomomi rather self-conscious, realising that he’d invited the man into his mess, assuming they came from a similar background. Why would he think that? It was enough to look at the fabric of the man’s pants to see that his level of income was way above average. The snakeoil business must be profitable, Tomomi thought sadly.

The owner took him through the house into the courtyard, and Tomomi was stunned by the variety of foreign flowers, all blooming on top of each other, like it was the Caribbean and India all in one place. A big bright butterfly fluttered from one exotic inflorescence to another.

“Nice collection,” he offered, turning to the host, who was opening a bottle of wine. That was not a good thing: Tomomi wasn’t planning to get drunk today, he needed to practise. Yet refusing was impolite, especially since the stranger obviously wanted to treat him to something in return for the beer. Or perhaps to make a point about quality drinks. Well, whatever, he never asked this guy to come over, and he was determined to spend the rest of the day productively.

So, taking a small sip to honour the host, he resolutely put the glass down and set to practising. Haruki sat down right on the deck floor, leaning against one of the poles, the fancy wine-glass rolling in his hand, and closed his eyes. Little by little, Tomomi relaxed and was able to concentrate on his fingering, especially since the acoustics here were magnificent indeed, even worth carrying the amp and the cable over.

“Why haven’t I heard you before?” Haruki asked after a couple hours of being so silent, Tomomi thought he’d fallen asleep.

“I use headphones usually,” Tomomi said. “But they broke down and I decided to save up and buy a fancier model, so…”

For a moment he was worried that the strange listener would offer to pay him the price of the headphones, but Haruki fell silent again.

Tomomi left deep in the night. Despite his best effort, he did get a little drunk, and he didn’t remember much of the day, except that some woman brought refreshments a couple of times, and Haruki had finished the bottle of wine and started another.

Yet he felt content, like this way of spending time was right in some way.

 

A few days passed, and on an unremarkable Thursday he was coming back from a convenience store with a bag of ready-made lunches to keep him going for a couple days, and just after he turned the corner of his own house, he bumped into Haruki.

Something flashed in the fortune-teller’s face: perhaps, relief, followed by a pained expression, and then it all disappeared, replaced by a neutral smile.

“Hi,” Tomomi said, apprehensive of what is to come.

“Oh hi,” Haruki smiled wider, and it suited him. “I was just looking for you. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind practising at my place again?”

Tomomi wavered.

To be honest, he wasn’t at all keen on spending more time with the esoteric guy, as he’d labelled him in his mind. But he couldn’t come up with a reason to opt out. After all, that time Haruki had been quiet and mostly just drank in the corner of his deck, and the garden was beautiful and inspiring, and the food was super nice. But it was weird.

“I, er,” he stammered, “I’ve bought a new headset.”

He couldn’t help noticing how the other man’s face fell, even though he tried hard to school his perfect features. He didn’t answer straightaway, so Tomomi suspected he was scrambling for a reason to insist on his invitation.

“Listen, er, Haruki,” he said, interrupting the fortune-teller’s thought process, “I’m playing in a bar tomorrow night. You could, you know, drop by and listen to some actual music.”

The stranger’s face lit up, and Tomomi’s heart skipped a beat. What _was_ it with this guy, had he nothing else to enjoy in his life other than Tomomi’s music? It wasn’t half bad, he knew that, but that kind of fan attitude gave him the creeps.

“Where?” Haruki asked.

That almost made Tomomi cringe. He’d made the invitation mindlessly, trying to avoid the necessity to go into the odd man’s house, but he’d totally forgotten…

“Oh, er, on second thought…” he managed, “I’m not sure you’d like to go there. Perhaps later, some other place…”

“If you’re playing there, what else should matter?” the esoteric guy tilted his head to the side, his curiosity piqued.

“Well, it’s a bit of a special place,” Tomomi squirmed, but the odd neighbour didn’t let him off the hook. Well, he could as well say it, perhaps, that will work as a repellent. “It’s a gay bar.”

Haruki blinked one, twice, then gave out an amused chuckle and nodded.

“Which one? I’ll book a table.”

“I… haven’t seen you there,” Tomomi said, confused, and scolded himself for the implication.

“I’m not a very social person,” Haruki explained, and Tomomi had a distinct feeling that Haruki was thoroughly amused by this conversation. Had he no other fun in his life?

Tomomi gave him the name and address of the club and cringed when the esoteric guy pulled up the social media page of the place on his sleek, expensive-looking smartphone and saw Tomomi’s picture in the friends list.

Later that day Tomomi was procrastinating checking his incoming messages for fear of seeing a friends request from the esoteric guy, but when he finally worked up the courage to look, there was nothing. Perhaps he’d been too obvious in his avoidance. That was bad. He really didn’t want to be rude to a man who’d done him no wrong. He thought perhaps he should try to make amends.

He searched for a Haruki in the area, and then in the whole city. There were lots, but none even remotely resembling his neighbour. He searched for “Haruki amulets” and “Haruki good luck charms”, but of course if the man had a page dedicated to his business, that would have his surname, not first name in the title. He tried looking for an esoteric shop in the area, and found a few, but on the other side of Horikawa-dori, in the blocks surrounding Seimei shrine. He clicked on the tag on the map by mistake and got a street view of the shrine with its huge grey gate and lion dogs on both sides. He felt like he’d had some idea that slipped his mind before even forming properly, and spent some time trying to recall it, but nothing came back. Eventually he went back to his guitar, leaving the snickering faces of the lion dogs on the screen.

 

The club was full, and it took Tomomi a bit of time to spot the familiar figure, even though Haruki had taken a table close to the stage. There was a bottle on his table, and from what Tomomi could see, it was already half empty. He shuddered inwardly, feeling a mixture of worry for the odd man and worry about what kind of trouble he might expect from this association for himself.

What kind of life was the guy leading, really? Sitting in his expensive home, drinking his expensive wine all by himself day after day? With a random neighbour’s guitar music once in a while for entertainment? How did he even earn all of that money? There was that woman, too, but she seemed more like a servant than a girlfriend…

On his way to the club that day, Tomomi was passing by the house next door and the mother of the family, the sweet, plump Kanako-san was washing her collection of Tanuki statues, so he took the opportunity to ask her about the newcomer. He learnt that Haruki had arrived in September and almost never came out of the house, although he did seem to get a couple visitors a week, including some young girls and occasionally someone in a very expensive car. What a worthless luxury life, Tomomi had thought and wondered why it bothered him.

Back in the present, he looked up and met Haruki’s unfocused gaze. Right. It was about time for him to start playing, although he was completely not in the mood, the whole Haruki business weighing on his mind. He shook his head, trying to find some inspiration to get him going. He remembered the sly faces of the lion dogs. He hadn’t gone to the shrine in a few years, really, but those faces were something he always thought of as a token from his childhood, when he visited his grandfather in the house that he eventually inherited. So, the lion dogs. The lion dogs and Haruki’s white chambray. Why were there lion dogs and not foxes at Seimei shrine? Why did Haruki always wear white?

He thought of white, and with that he started playing, his mind straying to the sombre, tranquil expression of Haruki’s face the first night, and to his odd tears before that, and his amused smile the other day. His beauty was perfect, his face so pale, it was almost transparent, his movements graceful and deliberate. Tomomi felt a weird sense of familiarity, as if something from his childhood came back, but in the time that passed it’d lost its name and shape.

He was barely conscious enough to notice that he was finishing the last piece and the evening was drawing to an end. He had no recollection of how he’d played, but as he struck the last chords, the audience erupted in applause the kind of which he’d never heard before. A bit lost, he got off the stage to be congratulated by his agent as well as the club owner and a bunch of acquaintances. Apparently, things had gone well.

He noticed that some people had been dancing to his music, and now went on, swaying with the rhythm of the recording that the manager hastily put up to keep up the spirit. Tomomi was patted on the back, profusely congratulated and given a champagne glass, and then another one. He felt overwhelmed and opted out of joining a bunch of vaguely familiar people at the staff table, instead making his way to a relatively quiet corner and plopping down on a free chair.

“Thank you,” he heard, barely audible over the music and the chatter of the club.

He turned to see that it was Haruki’s table he ended up at. His first instinct was to apologise and excuse himself, but he immediately recalled, cheeks colouring, that it was thinking of Haruki and his sad lifestyle that got him in the mood to perform so well. He owed the man at least some attention.

“I, er,” he produced, almost blurting out some form of gratitude himself, but stopping for fear of sounding weird. He considered ascribing some of his inspiration to Haruki’s garden, but that sounded cheesy. Looking for something to talk about at all, he noticed that the bottle on the table was barely started, which meant that it was not the same one as at the beginning of the concert.

“Would you like some wine?” Haruki prompted, misinterpreting his look.

“Ah, yes, please, if you don’t mind,” Tomomi managed, flushing. He did feel like drinking a bit, though. And the wine turned out to be quite smooth, although he was no connoisseur.

Drinking let him off the hook in terms of making conversation, and Haruki seemed to be content with the silence, watching the swaying dance crowd through half-lidded eyes. His expression was far away, like he was daydreaming. Or perhaps just drunk, Tomomi realised. He wondered if he should walk the man home. And maybe check on him the next day. In his doubt, he looked up over Haruki’s shoulder and saw someone making their way towards his table. Someone he really, _really_ didn’t want to see, now of all times. He might not have been keen on spending time with Haruki, but that was nothing compared to the person approaching him right now.

“Care for a dance?” he asked a bit urgently.

The esoteric guy blinked way too slowly, as if startled out of a doze.

“Sorry?”

“I said, would you like to dance?” Tomomi pressed on. The Danger was way too close.

Haruki’s eyes opened wide.

“Sure. Although I’m probably not that-“

“No problem,” Tomomi got up and grabbed his hand to pull him from out of his chair. The hand was cool to the touch and unnaturally smooth and soft, but there was no time for considering such things.

He pretty much dragged Haruki to the dance floor, pulled him up in a much less decent embrace than he had intended (the champagne-wine mix must’ve been at work) and tried hard to get lost among other swaying couples. The esoteric guy seemed a little shocked at first, but then relaxed, and even rested his head on Tomomi’s shoulder, moving gracefully to the music.

His body in Tomomi’s arms felt soft and malleable, and warm, and his scent was very, very nice. Probably some expensive perfume, the young man guessed, but didn’t feel like begrudging the odd neighbour his income. It felt odd, being so intimate with a man he barely knew, and he wondered why Haruki himself was not keeping his distance, but the only answer he could come up with was that the man was either very lonely or very drunk, or both. Determined to assess just how bad a case he was dealing with here, he tried to make conversation.

“Why do you always wear white?” he asked one of the questions he’d been thinking about, and belatedly realised how odd it sounded out of context.

Indeed, this time even Haruki was surprised. He lifted his head and pulled back a bit to get a better view of Tomomi’s reddening face.

“Funny that you should ask, because I don’t.”

Tomomi blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“You only saw me wearing white once, on the day we first met,” Haruki clarified.

“But-“ Tomomi started, intending to point out that Haruki was wearing white right at that moment, but as he looked down, he saw that the man’s shirt was actually dark blue. “But-“ he started again, adamant that when he spotted Haruki at the table before performing, he saw a white clad figure. But that was nonsense, why would Haruki change mid-show? “Sorry, I must be more drunk than I thought,” he surrendered.

Haruki looked greatly amused, his eyes twinkling something crazy.

In the meantime, some couples moved, and The Danger got a view of them. Tomomi shifted, hoping to hide his face, but saw that it was too late: Mitsuo was coming for him.

“What’s wrong?” Haruki asked, picking up on Tomomi’s evolutions.

“I, er,” Tomomi started as usual. “I’m sorry, Haruki, but I kinda used you somewhat…”

Haruki’s eyebrows flew up, but immediately his look became understanding.

“An ex?”

“Yeah,” Tomomi admitted sheepishly. “And he’s coming.”

Haruki’s eyes darted around the hall.

“Let’s make for the backdoor, it’s not far.”

“He’ll follow.”

“He’ll be easier to deal with outside,” Haruki said mysteriously and led the way.

They barely had time to breathe in some clear December air, as the door opened again to let out a short, surprised-looking young man.

“Tomomi, we need to talk!” he exclaimed instead of a greeting.

“No, we don’t,” Tomomi cut him off. “And I’m busy, as you see,” he had one arm wrapped around the esoteric guy and used the free hand to stroke his collarbone, visible in the opening of his shirt. Haruki leaned into the touch, his eyes glazing over, and Tomomi wondered if he were acting a part.

“You won’t convince me that you’re hooking up with this himbo,” Mitsuo spat.

Tomomi felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He might have had some doubts regarding his interest in Haruki, but he was shocked that someone could even think of insulting him like that. To Tomomi, Haruki seemed so fragile, as if even a thoughtless look could shatter him, and to attack him so blatantly-

“How dare you!?” he gasped.

The offender opened his mouth to say something even worse, and Tomomi was fully ready to punch him in the jaw before he’d uttered another sound, when suddenly Haruki moved to the side and swiped two fingers across the bastard’s back.

Mitsuo froze. He didn’t just pause or do a double take or any normal human action that could be described as ‘froze’. He froze quite literally, that is, stopped moving as if he was stuck in some epoxy, like a fly in amber. He wasn’t blinking or breathing, the resentful expression on his face not relaxing, even his hair wasn’t moving in the light wind.

“What the…” Tomomi muttered.

“I don’t believe I want to learn the rest of his derogatory vocabulary,” Haruki drawled, looking at the unmoving man with sad displeasure. “I hope for your sake that he used to be nicer before you broke up.”

“Did you kill him?” Tomomi breathed out, staring in terrified astonishment.

“Of course not,” chuckled Haruki. “I may be mighty, but not as mighty as to take a life with just a touch. He will come to his senses in some fifteen minutes. Enough time for us to get a cab.”

Tomomi slowly shifted his stare from Mitsuo to Haruki.

“Do you promise?” he asked for nothing better to say.

“Yes,” Haruki simply answered.

Tomomi considered. He had no way of finding that out, but could he trust Haruki? He wanted to, besides, if the man was capable of such things, what else could he do? What could he do to Tomomi?

“What if someone hurts him or picks his pockets while he’s out here?” he asked to stall for time.

“Well, try to pick his pocket,” Haruki chuckled.

Tomomi tried tentatively, and found that Mitsuo’s clothes seemed to be made of stone and the edges of the pockets were impossible to move apart. Apparently, hitting the man was useless as well.

“He’s not a bad man,” he defended weakly.

“I’m not the one who was going to punch him,” Haruki observed, rocking on his heels. He seemed totally in his element in this oddest of situations. In fact, he made it seem kind of normal.

Tomomi frowned.

“He had no right to insult you.”

“I doubt insulting is something that one can earn a right to do,” Haruki observed philosophically. “I do appreciate your chivalry though. But if you don’t want him to insult either of us again, we’d better get going.”

Tomomi looked around.

“There’s a room upstairs, this window. I’d like to stay there and see for myself that he is OK.”

Haruki shrugged but followed.

Indeed, in about ten minutes, Mitsuo’s shape relaxed, he staggered a bit, regaining his balance and then looked around madly. Since there was no one, he went back to the club.

Tomomi watched all that from the side of the window, while Haruki was standing in the shadows, barely distinguishable in his dark outfit.

“Reassured yourself?” he asked quietly.

“Sorry,” Tomomi muttered. “I didn’t mean to distrust you, it’s just…”

He heard a chuckle.

“Why, I’d say you’re holding up quite well for someone who’s witnessed me in action for the first time. So, what would you like to do now?”

Tomomi swallowed.

“Go home.”

Haruki nodded and turned to leave.

“Er, Haruki,” Tomomi called after him. “Sorry for… I mean… I probably gave you the wrong impression…”

He was feeling guiltier and guiltier by the moment.

“I do not necessarily curse everyone who does something that displeases me,” Haruki said, and in the darkness his face was glowing silver white and the words sounded ominous, as if he meant the exact opposite. Tomomi tensed his body to prevent it from trembling.

“I’m not saying it because I’m afraid of you,” he said sternly. “I would’ve explained it to you, had I had more time. And I’m not running away from him, I just wanted to avoid a scene. But I did enjoy the dance and I’d like to do it again sometime.”

There, he’d managed to put a few words together without faltering.

The expression on Haruki’s face was extremely weird. He was silent for the longest time, and then said slowly and, as it seemed, tentatively, “How about… now?”

“But…” Tomomi was back to stammering, trying to point out The Danger still lurking in the club.

“He’s left. I heard him slam the front door,” Haruki waved off.

“How?..”

But the only answer Tomomi got was an eerie smile. Haruki looked positively scary, shimmering in the dark, the edges of his shape shifting and dissolving as if he was not made of solid flesh. Tomomi couldn’t help it: he had to check that he was indeed talking to a person, not an apparition. He stepped closer and lifted his hand to touch Haruki’s cheek. It felt warm and real, if way too smooth for a human man.

Haruki closed his eyes and turned his head a little to brush his lips against Tomomi’s palm. The young man was astonished at the caress: he’d never had anyone treat him with such reverence. Why this man all of a sudden? Was it just his mannerism? In any case, it was definitely enticing.

They danced at the club for a couple more hours and Tomomi got complimented by some acquaintances on landing such a pretty partner. Tomomi himself had a hard time assessing Haruki’s looks. The man looked otherworldly and unnatural like he was being projected onto the dance floor from a computer somewhere, and yet he felt solid and responsive.

Tomomi’d had a few more glasses to deal with the oddness of the evening, and then finally decided it was cab time. They drove to Haruki’s house, and Tomomi kept to his resolve to see the man safely into his home, even though he no longer seemed drunk.

As he was standing in the genkan, trying to put two words together to excuse himself, Haruki took his hand. His eyes shone like a lighthouse of hope, and Tomomi knew what was to come before he even started speaking.

“Will you stay? Please?”

He was standing so close, his beautiful scent filling Tomomi’s chest. _This is wrong_ , he thought. _Something is wrong_. But he couldn’t name it, and the strange man’s body was so warm, and his look so welcoming. Tomomi stayed.

The understanding came later, after they were done (and Tomomi had to admit that despite all the wine, it had been one of the best times in his life), and Haruki was dozing off on his Japanese-style bedroll, and he cuddled up to Tomomi somewhat desperately, murmuring in his doze.

“Hiromasa. Hiromasa…”

Tomomi got wide awake and sober.

Now it all made sense. Of course, how had he not seen it before!

_He must’ve separated with someone, for whatever reason. And never got over it. And I remind him of the guy. Like the first time, he said the music brought back memories. But he wasn’t so much listening as he was watching. And the first time he saw me, he looked thunderstruck there for a moment. He clings to me like we’ve been together for ages, but in reality… He deceives himself into thinking I’m someone else._

He was surprised to find that the realisation hurt. He didn’t think he’d got so attached to this strange man that finding out he was just an ersatz would be painful. He himself hadn’t exactly been gracious that evening: using Haruki as a live shield, then distrusting him… He probably deserved what he got. But man, that sucked.

After some internal debate, he waited for Haruki to fall fast asleep and went home.

 

A few days passed and Tomomi wasn’t going anywhere near Haruki’s house, even though he knew a conversation was in order. He didn’t like open confrontations, but didn’t deceive himself into believing that the matter of Haruki would just magically resolve itself.

So when one day the doorbell rang and he found a bleak-looking Haruki behind the door, he simply stepped aside and gestured for the man to come in.

They sat in the living-room, which was for once tidy because Tomomi had had guilt energy to spare. He made some tea, not even hinting towards offering alcohol.

“You are avoiding me,” Haruki stated blatantly.

“I will not serve as a replacement,” Tomomi countered, taking the bull by the horns.

Haruki stared at him, at first in confusion, but then Tomomi could see the understanding dawning on him.

“You’re not a replacement,” he tried.

“Oh, come on,” Tomomi chortled. “It’s either that, or you have an electric guitar fetish, but I don’t believe that. Think about it: we’ve only met two and a half times, and the first time you looked like you saw a ghost, and then you were suddenly inviting me and stuff and never keeping your distance. Not to mention that you called me someone else’s name after sex.”

During his monologue Haruki looked like arguing, but the last bit knocked the air out of him.

“What name?” he said, and he almost looked terrified.

“I think you can guess,” Tomomi shrugged.

Haruki sat there, breathing deep, for a while, as if he was preparing himself for jumping off a cliff, and then, in a broken, hoarse voice, suggested,

“Hiromasa?”

“Yeah, him,” Tomomi confirmed. “Look, I get it, you lost someone and you’re looking to fill the void. It’s understandable. But I-“

“You’re not a replacement!” Haruki suddenly barked. “It’s not what you think! It’s… more… complicated…” he finished, struggling with his words.

“Haruki,” Tomomi said softly. He really felt for the guy, but he was not about to abandon his dignity. “You don’t even know me. You are imagining a relationship where there is none.”

“I do know you,” Haruki protested childishly.

“Oh yeah?” Tomomi was being sarcastic. “Ok, what’s my favourite colour?”

“Purple,” Haruki answered matter-of-factly.

Tomomi rolled his eyes. Apparently, it was obvious in his clothes.

“Fine, what about, say, favourite season?”

“Winter.”

“Erm… weather?”

“Sunny and windy.”

Tomomi was beginning to get the creeps.

“OK, favourite dish?”

Haruki thought for a moment.

“You like crispy, grilled or roasted things.”

Tomomi took a breath. Well, the man did earn a living by doing cold reading, and who knows, he could have done some stalking or social networks research as well.

“OK, listen, Haruki. You have to admit it; we’ve met two and a half times over the span of a week. And barely talked at all. You can’t possibly expect to know _me_ and not some idea of me. But you’re, well, I mean, kind of rushing things,” he finished in a ramble.

Haruki was staring into space unblinking, and then said slowly,

“You don’t allow for a possibility that we might have met before?”

Tomomi sized him up.

“I think I would’ve remembered you. Unless you mean, like, in childhood?”

“Or before that.”

“Before that?” Tomomi was confused. “What do you mean? In utero, huh? Or in the previous life?”

Haruki looked up pointedly.

Tomomi froze.

“You don’t actually think we met in the previous life?” he said warily.

“That is exactly what I think.”

Tomomi took a deep breath. He had known from the beginning that the man was into all sorts of woo-woo, but he had no idea he was _this_ confused. This was bad. And he’d slept with the guy. He’d slept with a guy who believed in incarnations in earnest. Holy crap.

“You think I’m insane,” Haruki remarked, as if Tomomi’s face was an open book, “but you witnessed me freeze a man the other day.”

“Well, that was weird, but this is a whole other level of weird,” Tomomi countered. “I mean, I have no idea what you did and how, but there must be some explanation. But, I mean, _lives_ and stuff… That’s too much!”

Haruki did not reply. The silence stretched and Tomomi started feeling sorry for rebuffing the esoteric guy like that. _He probably doesn’t meet all that many people sharing his beliefs. No wonder he’s lonely,_ Tomomi thought. _Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate. But this is insane! But I kinda feel bad for him, thinking all that crazy stuff all by himself. Maybe if he had a normal person to talk to, he’d see reason eventually…_

“OK,” he said as his patience got stretched too thin. “Let’s for a moment assume that I believe in all that stuff about past lives and such. Isn’t it common knowledge that people are supposed to forget their previous incarnations? How can you remember what you used to be and who you met?”

“I remember because you’re the only one who incarnated,” Haruki said matter-of-factly. “I’m still the same.”

Tomomi blinked.

“Wait, wait. How old are you?”

Haruki sighed.

“I lost count of years even before we met last time.”

Tomomi stared. This was way beyond crazy.

The ringing silence between them was broken by his mobile alerting him to a message. It was nothing urgent, but he noticed the time. He’d made some arrangements for that day.

“Listen,” he said with difficulty. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have an errand to run.”

Haruki looked at him with what could only be described as desperation.

“I- you’re right. I’ve rushed things. I’m sorry,” he started saying. “I should’ve let you take your time… I mean, I know you need time to adjust. But I was just so… So many years, and now finally I found you, and I couldn’t…” he took a deep breath. “I’ve never had much willpower. I just couldn’t wait.”

“Erm,” Tomomi felt awfully uncomfortable. “I understand, but I still need to go. I mean, it’s not a pretext to kick you out or anything, I just had plans.”

“Yes, of course,” Haruki agreed and stayed sitting.

“I’m kinda a little late already,” Tomomi prompted.

“Yes, I…” Haruki trailed off, bowing his head, and Tomomi realized the man couldn’t muster the will to get up, thinking that he’d probably never be admitted back into the house.

“You can come with me if you want,” Tomomi said, almost kicking himself for such a ridiculous offer. “It’s nothing fun, though, I just need to pick up some stuff.”

“May I?” Haruki looked up immediately, like a man whose sentence got lifted, and Tomomi realised he couldn’t crush his hope. If he really believed that Tomomi was a reincarnation of his former… lover? — then what must it feel like for him to be refused and dumped… Especially after years of loneliness… Tomomi’s heart ached with the sadness of the situation. He honestly just felt so sorry for the poor delusional man, he couldn’t push him away.

“Sure,” he decided. “But it’s in Osaka. And please don’t talk to me or anyone else about all of that incarnation stuff.”

Haruki beamed and jumped up like a spring.

 

They took the train in silence. Tomomi seemed afraid to start a conversation for fear it would turn to things he wasn’t ready to process, while the fortune-teller just enjoyed the companionship. It was nice to go somewhere together, like in good old times, even if the aim of the trip wasn’t particularly interesting. He loved the road. He’d travelled the world as soon as the transport developments allowed.

He was watching the suburbs pass by in the window while casually touching his knee to Tomomi’s thigh, and felt completely content. This was turning out to be a really good day: Tomomi let him back into his life even despite all the mistakes he’d made, bless Hiromasa and his big soul. He got forgiven even after making the mistake of confusing a reincarnation with the original person. He spoke the name… He’d been sure he would never be able to utter that name out loud. It held too much meaning. He barely managed to say it after Tomomi had prompted. And to think that it just slipped out carelessly when his mind was drowsy — that was a shock. He must’ve let his guard down completely. But of course he did, with this man…

He looked at Tomomi, who was sitting still and a bit too straight, as if expecting something bad to happen. How he wished to ease his worries… But that would take time. For now all he was able to do was to hold on to the man for dear life, even if, like today, it meant dramatizing things sometimes. It wasn’t like he didn’t feel the way he led Tomomi to believe, but normally, of course, he would’ve never let it on. He was quite good at hiding even the strongest of feelings. But he knew he had to show some true emotion if he ever wanted Hi- Tomomi to trust him.

“Do I resemble him?” Tomomi asked, misinterpreting the long gaze the fortune-teller was giving him.

“Not outwardly,” the fortune-teller shrugged, chastising himself for giving the wrong impression. “I suppose I could say there’s some similarity around the eyes, but that could easily be my clouded memory over time. The fashions have changed quite a bit as well. He wouldn’t have been caught dead with a hairstyle like yours.”

“Then what makes you think I have anything to do with him?”

“I have more senses than just sight,” Haruki smiled. “But first and foremost, it’s your music. Not the tunes themselves, no, those are uniquely yours, but rather the way it makes me feel. It’s hard to explain.”

Tomomi seemed to be satisfied with the explanation nonetheless.

“Did you, erm,” he started again, rather horrified at what he was about to ask, but pushing on anyway, “did you love him?”

There was a long silence, and Haruki was staring at the train map on the back of the seat in front, unseeingly.

“I don’t think it would be fair if I said it to you,” he offered eventually, “when I never said it to him.”

Tomomi could almost feel the downpour of guilt flushing through the man’s body. He reached out and squeezed Haruki’s hand in a desperate attempt to comfort the uncomfortable.

“I think he knew,” he said, hoping that it wasn’t a mistake. He had no idea how close the two had been, and if it had even been mutual.

“Yes,” Haruki whispered and shifted down the back of the seat to press his forehead against Tomomi’s shoulder.

It was the weirdest relationship ever.

 

“What is it that you’re picking up?” Haruki asked as they were walking through suburban Osaka with a dim goal of a five-storey block of flats in view.

“Some sound equipment,” Tomomi said, not for the first time wondering, how old his companion was and how tech savvy he could be expected to be. “My friend used to work with a recording studio, but quit, and she has a bunch of stuff left that she has no use for. But it could come in handy for my home recordings.”

“Why don’t you make recordings at a studio?” Haruki wondered, and Tomomi checked a box in his mind: at least the man had some idea of reality.

“I do, but I need to make stuff for my own use, so I could improve,” he explained.

Haruki smiled, and Tomomi had a feeling it was the recognising kind of smile.

 

Mei opened the door to find her friend Tomomi accompanied by… no way!

“You!?” she gasped.

Haruki nodded, a raised eyebrow being the only indicator of his surprise.

“You know each other?” Tomomi stared.

Haruki said nothing again, but Mei had quite a lot to share.

“Yeah, I’ve used the services,” she said, letting them into the flat. “And honestly, I dunno what to say, it all worked out, but I wouldn’t bet that it wouldn’t’ve worked out just the same without his paper.”

“It could have,” Haruki agreed. “Or you could’ve stayed at home and never tried reading your contract.”

“That’s… that’s placebo!” Mei exclaimed and gave him a glass of iced tea.

“You went to him for _magic_?” Tomomi finally caught up with the conversation and was incredulous. “Where do you get money like that?”

“But the first visit is free,” she looked at him, puzzled. And then suspiciously at Haruki, “Or is it just for girls?”

“No, for everyone,” Haruki confirmed. “But Tomomi never sought my professional advice, he doesn’t believe in my powers.”

“I can’t say that I do,” Mei huffed. “It was Noriko who washed my brain, and I was pretty desperate, so…”

“Ah,” Tomomi nodded his understanding. If Noriko was involved, he had no more questions.

“But then, if it’s not professional, what’s the connection between the two of you?” Mei inquired.

“We’re…” Tomomi started, afraid that Haruki would say something crackpot-y, but realised he didn’t have much to say himself. “Well, we’re dating.”

Mei eyed Haruki as if seeing him in a new way. The man’s face never betrayed any emotion, if he had any.

“And what, pray tell, possessed you,” she turned to Tomomi, “to bring your date to my squat?”

“Well, he has to see what he’s getting into,” Tomomi shrugged.

Haruki snorted into his tea and Mei rolled her eyes.

“So I’m supposed to exemplify your friends? Perfect. Well, in that case you guys can help me clear out the stash.”

“The stash?” Tomomi had a bad feeling.

Instead of an answer, Mei walked over to a built-in wardrobe, opened it and pointed at the top shelf sagging under the weight of crammed boxes and bags.

“Your stuff is somewhere in there, along with a ton of other things that I need to sort out. You can get started, and if you are good boys, I might even treat you to a dinner.”

“Do you have a step ladder?” Tomomi asked, feeling the worst for bringing Haruki here despite his apparent arrogance earlier.

“You asking me?” Mei squinted at him and then walked out into the kitchen.

“I guess she doesn’t,” Tomomi summarised and looked around for a chair. “Sorry about this,” he added quietly. “I told you it wasn’t going to be a fun trip.”

“You told your friend we’re dating,” Haruki whispered back, and Tomomi turned back to him to see happy fire in his eyes. “I don’t mind sorting some luggage for such a treat.”

Tomomi blushed and looked away for a moment, and when he looked up again, Haruki had all the stuff from the shelf hanging in mid-air. He pointed two fingers at a group of bags and then pointed into the corner of the room, and the bags floated over there and settled softly on the floor. Then he did the same for some other bags in another corner. In a minute all the packages were strewn around the room.

“I believe these contain some wires,” Haruki opened a plastic bag closest to his feet.

Tomomi swallowed and bent over to look at the bag’s innards. He felt his own pot give a crack, but kept his composure for Mei’s sake. The bag indeed contained some audio cables and other stuff he was quite happy to find.

They were over with the sorting way before Mei finished the dinner.

“You all done?” she gasped when Tomomi presented the results.

“Yeah. Haruki here has special powers when it comes to sorting out a mess,” Tomomi said with a nervous chuckle. “Not to mention seeing through walls of boxes.”

“Perfect,” Mei cheered up for a change. “Sounds like a good match. In that case you guys can help me in the kitchen.”

“Do you mind if I went out for a smoke?” Haruki asked.

Mei waved him off, but Tomomi barely managed not to cry out.

“I’ll go with you,” he said sternly and ignored Mei’s complaints, following Haruki outside.

“You smoke!” he whisper-yelled once they were on the stairs.

“Sometimes,” Haruki shrugged. “Why, does it bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me!” Tomomi was incredulous. “Are you even aware that it’s bad for health!?”

Haruki chuckled.

“So I’ve heard. But life expectancy isn’t exactly something I need to worry about.”

“Yeah!?” Tomomi was beside himself. “Well, you know what, I don’t kiss smokers. I hate that- that taste. So if you want, go ahead, it’s your life and all, and I’m not promising anything, but if you keep your friendship with that cigarette, you can forget about going anywhere near me for sure!”

Haruki stared at him with a fascinated smile.

“Well, I must say, I didn’t expect that reaction,” he commented eventually. “But fine, if it matters so much to you, then I won’t. I wasn’t going to, actually; I don’t even have any cigarettes on me. I just said that I was going for a smoke because it’s a legitimate reason to walk out of a room in most places.”

Tomomi took a breath and then frowned.

“You hated it in there?”

Haruki shook his head.

“Not at all, but I’m not very keen on cooking.”

“Well, if you suck at it, that makes two of us,” Tomomi quirked a smile.

“Ah, no, I can do it,” Haruki smiled one of his most enchanting smiles. “I just don’t like it.”

“Why?” Tomomi was puzzled. In his book it was either one or the other: either you cooked and enjoyed it or you didn’t and didn’t.

“I had to cook for my teacher and his family when I was very young,” Haruki shrugged. “As well as take care of other chores in the house. It’s not a time I like to remember.”

“Ok,” Tomomi accepted the information, as usual, without any judgement. The fortune-teller wondered why he still expected any. “In that case let’s go to the store and pick up some drinks and dessert.”

“So,” the fortune-teller probed cautiously as they started walking, “You didn’t seem to care much for my drinking habit though, did you?”

“You call your drinking problem a habit?” Tomomi sneered. “Of course I cared! That’s the reason I walked you home the other day.”

“Oh really?” Haruki laughed. “Didn’t you share the bottle with me?”

“I don’t mind drinking a couple glasses socially,” Tomomi grumbled. “But two bottles in an evening by yourself is way too much.”

“It didn’t seem to bother you before,” Haruki observed.

“Well, before it was none of my business what you did to yourself,” Tomomi said firmly. “But since I said that we’re dating, and you accepted it, that makes your well-being my business alright!”

At this Haruki stopped and turned to block Tomomi’s way, pulled him down by the neck and planted a hot kiss on his mouth.

Mei was washing her mixing bowls while watching the men on their way to the supermarket out of the window. It didn’t look like they were going to be back soon. She sighed with a fraction of relief that she didn’t have to worry about Tomomi and his broken heart anymore. But they were still going to catch it for keeping her waiting!

 

“Your friend is quite an unusual person,” Haruki was saying as they entered the shop. “Especially for a Japanese.”

“She’s not exactly representative of my friends in general,” Tomomi said quickly, a bit embarrassed. “I just had to give her some reason, and I couldn’t say, you know…”

“That I was desperate to go anywhere so long as it was with you?” Haruki finished, and Tomomi looked up, shocked that he’d say such a thing so easily. He saw, though, that the fortune-teller had a mocking expression on his face. “I appreciate you not telling her that. I’m not proud of myself for the emotional blackmail, but I was really scared there for a moment.”

His mocking didn’t seem to match what he was saying, and after some processing Tomomi figured, the man must have been struggling to be sincere. He decided not to continue with this line of conversation and patted him on the back, pushing slightly towards the desserts stand before the shop assistants thought they were weird.

“You said Mei wasn’t typical for a Japanese,” he remembered. “Have you met many foreigners?”

“I’ve lived in other countries,” Haruki replied and he seemed relieved. “And travelled to most. Have you ever been outside Japan?”

“I went to Hawaii a couple times with my parents, as a kid,” Tomomi shrugged. “But it was a package tour and everyone there was Japanese anyway.”

“Can I invite you to my villa in Rio?” Haruki beamed.

“Is that… in Brazil?” Tomomi stared.

“Naturally.”

“Oh wow.”

He thought for a bit, but not about the invitation.

“Why do you have a villa in Brazil, but rent a house in Kyoto?” he said eventually, grabbing some sponge cakes.

“It was a gift,” Haruki shrugged. “From a client. I wouldn’t have bought any real estate myself.”

“Why not? I mean, maybe I’m assuming, but it looks like you could afford it.”

Haruki nodded absently and picked up some skewered rice cakes.

“Because the only house that means anything to me is not for sale,” he said eventually, leaving Tomomi to his guesses.

They had a nice dinner with Mei, who told them off for dawdling, and then chattered happily about her new job. When they left, it was pitch black outside. Haruki insisted on helping to carry the bags with equipment, and that left Tomomi in a strange mood. He felt that he was being too casual, too relaxed around a new boyfriend. He’d never taken Mitsuo to Mei’s place, even though they had dated for almost a year, and if asked, he would be certain that he’d never take a boyfriend on such a trip after only meeting him a week before.

Then again, he usually didn’t end up in bed with people after just one night out. And yet Haruki felt somehow familiar… Like he wasn’t a stranger. Perhaps, it was as Mei had said — placebo. Haruki was manipulating him into believing the past life stuff.

“May I ask you something personal?” Haruki inquired quietly.

“You probably should. I mean, we’d better get to actually know each other, since it looks like we’re stuck together,” Tomomi sighed, and then cringed at himself. “I mean… I mean since people are gonna assume…”

“I understand what you mean,” the fortune-teller nodded, his face unreadable. “I was going to ask, what happened between you and that man from the club.”

Tomomi cringed even more. He _really_ didn’t want to talk about it, not to _this guy_ of all people. But he’d just agreed, didn’t he…

“He, er,” he started and paused, trying to collect the shards of his painful experience and translate it into words, “he was in love with someone else, and then started dating me, and then cheated on me with that other guy, and then got dumped, and now he wants me back.”

“I’m sorry,” Haruki looked down, frowning.

“You didn’t expect it to be a happy story, did you?” Tomomi challenged him.

“No, of course not,” the man shook his head. “I just thought I should know in case… You know, people who are feeling insulted can do all kinds of things.”

Tomomi tried to figure out where the man was going with that, but nothing crossed his mind.

“You’re welcome to ask me anything you want,” Haruki suggested in the meantime.

“Oh, yeah,” Tomomi remembered. “What’s your surname?”

“Abe.”

Tomomi looked incredulous.

“Really?”

“Yes. Why?”

“It’s super common,” Tomomi complained.

Haruki snorted.

“Why, you were expecting me to have an uncommon surname?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, esoteric people always have those weird meaningful names.”

“But those are made up,” Haruki smiled. “And I’ve told you the real one.”

“Okay,” Tomomi shrugged. “Then Abe it is.”

Haruki eyed him suspiciously.

“Just a word of warning. Don’t try to call me Mr. Abe, or I’ll curse you.”

“But you’re older than me!” Tomomi exclaimed.

“And if that’s your reason, I’ll curse you harder.”

Tomomi rolled his eyes and left the subject alone.

“Do you, er,” he started and then wondered: why was he even asking that? He had no responsibility before the man. As soon as they got off the bus, they could each simply go to his own house and relax in their own way. But then he imagined Haruki moping about in his huge empty rooms, and probably drinking… He wasn’t _that_  heartless. Besides, it’s not like he had any better plans for the evening anyway.

“You were saying something?” Haruki prompted, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“Sorry, I always start talking before I start thinking,” Tomomi admitted.

“I know,” Haruki smiled, overcome with joy.

Tomomi felt somewhat freaked out, but decided to ignore that.

“I was going to say, would you like to watch a movie or something? I mean, at my place?”

“Yes, very much so,” the esoteric guy beamed.

Tomomi wondered why he felt so compelled to invite him. This wasn’t going to end well, he knew. This was going to end so much worse than with Mitsuo…

As they got off the train, it was raining. The bus location notifier at the stop was not moving for the longest time, and Tomomi froze to the bone.

“Perhaps we should take a taxi?” Haruki suggested after almost half an hour of waiting.

“We’ve been here so long, it has to be coming soon,” Tomomi replied stubbornly. The truth was, he was out of cash and he didn’t want to let Haruki pay the entire amount because he felt it would be difficult to give him the money back later.

The bus did arrive eventually, filled to the roof, but by that time Tomomi was an icicle and didn’t mind the warmth of a crowd. He and Haruki got squished against the doors and each other. It almost felt nice, and he spent the ride listening to Haruki’s breath in his ear. Judging by the breath pattern, Haruki found it nice as well.

They got completely soaked as they walked from the bus stop, and the heavy bags with equipment were not improving Tomomi’s mood. He didn’t want a movie. He wanted a hot shower and an early night.

“I think you should take a shower,” Haruki echoed his thoughts as they entered the house.

He looked none the better: loose wet hair plastered to his face and neck, his coat drippling on the floor. Tomomi almost invited him to go together.

_What is wrong with me? We had sex once, we were both drunk, and it wasn’t even very intimate!_

“You go first,” he said finally.

“I’m fine,” Haruki shook his head, and in a blink of an eye, his hair was dry and feathery again, and his clothes were in pristine condition.

Tomomi stared for a second, then took off his soaking coat and handed it to Haruki with a challenge.

“Well, if you don’t need normal human disease-prevention measures, you can deal with this.”

Haruki looked up at him, and his eyes held fear and disbelief. Tomomi sucked in a breath. It looked like he’d hit a nerve. He managed a lopsided smile.

“Sorry, bad joke.”

“I’ll dry your coat,” Haruki promised, “but you’d still better go to the shower.”

Tomomi hesitated. His wet turtleneck was clinging to his skin unpleasantly, and overall he felt dirty and clammy and cold, but he couldn’t leave the esoteric guy like that, after saying something that he obviously took to heart.

“Listen,” he said. “I get it that you do all of this esoteric stuff. It’s weird. I mean, yeah, I’m weirded out. But I didn’t mean to say that it, er, makes you less of a person or whatever. There’s stuff I don’t get. There’s lots of such stuff. But you’re a good guy, no problem. I’m just, well, I guess I need to get used to it or something, because for now I feel like I’m going nuts every time I see you do stuff, OK? I mean, maybe warn me or something. OK?”

Haruki had a curious expression on his face, like he was trying not to grin and at the same time getting horny.

“Sure, I’ll warn you,” he said.

Tomomi nodded and was off to the bathroom.

As he was about to come out of the shower, he discovered that he’d forgotten to bring any fresh clothes with him. He’d got out of the habit of dressing in the bathroom since he started living alone. It wasn’t a big problem — he could just use a towel and sneak into his bedroom. After all, Haruki wasn’t a girl to get all embarrassed upon seeing him in a towel, right?

When he emerged, Haruki was mindlessly flipping channels on the TV in the dark living room, the screen casting unnatural light on his face. He turned, his features neutral, but changing into something else as he took in the sight.

“I, er,” Tomomi started, edging towards his bedroom door.

“Wait,” Haruki said in a commanding manner.

He got up from the sofa and walked over to Tomomi, who eyed him with curiosity. What was it? Something amiss with him? Or was the esoteric guy going to use magic on him for prophylactic reasons?

Haruki came up to him and raised a hand to his face. Tomomi’s wet hair had sprinkled droplets of water onto his collarbones, and Haruki’s hand traced those, smearing the water. The touch sent shivers down Tomomi’s skin. He could see desire in the eyes of the other man. He remembered his breath on the bus and looked down to see Haruki’s stomach tightening and sagging under his tight-fit track shirt. He felt a tingling sensation spread over his own abdomen.

Haruki stepped closer, touching the soft fabric of his shirt to Tomomi’s chest and licked off some water at the crook of his neck. Tomomi breathed in sharply. There was another lick, closer to his Adam’s apple. Haruki’s hands got into play as well, lightly brushing all over Tomomi’s exposed skin. Tomomi’s head swam. He felt his skin being sucked in through teeth and gasped, involuntarily encouraging the assault.

Haruki moved lower and explored his stomach. The man seemed to know every sensitive nook and cranny of his body as if they’d had years of sex, not just one quick shag. He dropped to his knees and pulled the towel with him. Tomomi backed off, bumping into the back of an armchair, and stayed there, cornered, leaning against the soft headrest. He was going to suggest moving into the bedroom, but at that moment Haruki upped the game.

Tomomi’s body convulsed. He hadn’t had sex before the other night since Mitsuo… And now wasn’t the time to think of that. Sinking fingers into Haruki’s shoulders, he got sharp nails in his thighs in return and regained some control. Haruki was eager but malleable, accommodating him in his hot mouth. Tomomi soon found a rhythm and moved, trying hard not to pull Haruki’s long hair. It was so nice to the touch, all silken and cool in his hands, he thought he wanted to wear it for clothes.

He was pushing and Haruki was accepting, the smooth heat of his mouth engulfing Tomomi and spreading throughout his body. He felt so desired, so treasured, as if he were precious and long sought-after. He melted into the sensation, basking in the warmth and trying as best he could to communicate back his appreciation.

“Let’s change,” he managed to say. “I’ll do you, too.”

Haruki patted his thigh, as if saying it was OK, and doubled his efforts. He didn’t stop even as Tomomi tried to push him away as he was nearing his peak. The incredible man took it all, and Tomomi lost any idea of up and down, his world spinning and tumbling over.

When he came to his senses, he was on the floor behind the armchair, and Haruki was sitting next to him, rubbing his eyes in a tired gesture. Tomomi reached out and touched his thigh, caressing it lightly, not sure what to say. Haruki gave a start as if he’d forgotten there was someone else around.

“Let me,” Tomomi said, sneaking his hand inside the man’s thigh and up, towards the groin.

“Don’t,” Haruki said quietly, laying his hand on top of Tomomi’s. “There’s no need.”

“Why?” Tomomi was puzzled, but no answer came. Haruki looked upset. “Did I do something?”

“No, sorry,” Haruki said quickly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“I don’t mind!” Tomomi assured. But the odd man just shook his head, as if dismayed at himself.

Tomomi was puzzled and pulled himself up into a sitting position, wrapping the towel back in place.

“What you said before you went to the shower was very kind,” Haruki offered eventually, not meeting his eyes. “It was so much like…” he trailed off, but Tomomi started getting the idea.

“Was it me you wanted?” he asked.

Haruki was silent for the longest time, hiding his face in his hands.

“I don’t know anymore,” he said finally. “I’m sorry. I’m so messed up.”

Tomomi processed that for a while, then picked himself up from the floor and went to his bedroom to put on some clothes. When he emerged, Haruki was gone.

 

He felt so stung, he couldn’t even think about what had transpired. Just the idea that all that tenderness, all that warmth was bestowed — not on him, but on another person via him, it filled him with pain. He remembered Haruki kissing his hand in the back room of the club. That wasn’t his either. That belonged to- what was his name, Hiromasa. What was that guy? What made him so special? Weren’t he and Tomomi in some way the same person?

Tomomi was having trouble with his sleep. The first night he was constantly expecting Haruki to come back, to apologise or explain, to make amends in some way. But apparently, there were no amends to be made. He tossed and turned, but sleep never came.

The next day he tried to work on his latest guitar piece, but that wasn’t working out either, his old ideas seeming to be trivial and random, and no new ideas came to replace them. He put the guitar aside and busied himself cleaning the house for something to do, hoping to get through the bad day and start anew tomorrow.

But the next night brought no relief: he lay awake, his mind churning up image after image, sounds of voice, the sweet and fresh scent, the silken touch of hair in his hands. What was so special about Hiromasa that he could have it all and Tomomi couldn’t? Who was he? What happened to him?

Finally, in the wee hours of morning Tomomi was able to doze off, if only for a short while. But he dreamt. His dreams were filled with rustling silks and wooden galleries and stifling smoke of burnt incense. They were also filled with feeling — love and weariness, grief of separation and guilt, and a tinge of hope. He woke up, aware that there was somehow more to him than before.

That day his music wasn’t flowing either, and he decided to put it away for a bit to get over the emotional turmoil as he knew his creative juices couldn’t flow when there was a lump in his throat. The lump wasn’t as big as the day before, but still present. It was a relief to get a message from Mei inviting him to go for a drive with a bunch of other friends, since the next day was Saturday and Christmas festivities were just around the corner.

His heart sank though when he saw she was inviting him together with Haruki. He really didn’t want to tell her that it wasn’t working out for him. However, he’d lied to her already once when he said they were dating, and to keep lying now… On the other hand, if he went alone and said Haruki couldn’t go, Mei would see right through him, she was keen like that, and he was terrible at hiding his emotions. But at the same time, he really didn’t want to upset her by telling her he’d broken up with Haruki. She worried about him, he knew. And it wouldn’t be true either, Haruki and he never actually broke up, the man just left after admitting… whatever, that wasn’t the point.

So, if Haruki wasn’t going to try and make amends, perhaps he, Tomomi, should. After all, surely he’d been nice enough for Haruki to owe him one trip attempting some kind of normality? The man wouldn’t die from being at least friendly for a day to someone he seemed to half-care about.

With that resolve, Tomomi messed up his hair in what he thought was a somewhat more attractive way and went over to Haruki’s place.

The gate opened by itself as soon as he raised a hand to ring the doorbell, and before he came up the stairs, Haruki swung the door open, looking caught by surprise.

“It’s you,” he said, blocking the doorway, obviously tense. “I meant to talk to you. I’m sorry for what happened…”

“Are you, er,” Tomomi started in his brand fashion, “are you alright?”

Haruki stared at him.

“That depends on your definition of ‘alright’,” he said. “Would you like to come in?”

Tomomi nodded and tried a smile.

This time Haruki actually led him to the living room, which probably doubled as the office: here was a coffee table and some cosy armchairs around it, and behind the chairs there was a large set of shelves, all of which were empty apart from a single box. It was a long and narrow gift box; its lid was open and stood on its long side behind it, and inside, in an inlay of silk, rested a flute.

“Do you play the flute?” Tomomi asked, so surprised to see a personal object in an otherwise completely impersonal house, that the purpose of his visit escaped him for a moment.

“I used to,” Haruki said in his deep voice that made Tomomi turn and look at him. “It was a very long time ago.”

“Oh,” Tomomi said, not knowing what to say. “I see. Anyway, er, I just meant to ask, do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“No,” Haruki shrugged, and from the way he didn’t even think about it, Tomomi concluded, he probably generally had no plans at all.

“Well, would you like to go for a drive with me and some of my friends?” he blurted out. “Mei will be there as well.”

Haruki looked puzzled.

“Would you like me to?”

“Well,” Tomomi shrugged with one shoulder, “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t, would I?”

“You might be thinking you are somehow obliged to stay in touch with me,” the esoteric guy observed. “I suppose I should clarify, just in case you are: you don’t owe me anything. I’ve been a nuisance to you and then I hurt you. If you want to walk away now, I’ll understand completely.”

Tomomi’s heart shrivelled into a knot of pain. He felt so bad for the strange man.

“I think you’re probably hurting much more,” he said eventually. “Just, you know, maybe we could still make it work?”

Haruki squinted at him.

“Why would you want to do that?”

Tomomi hesitated. Did Haruki mean he wasn’t interested?

That thought hurt so much, Tomomi almost cried. Yes, he wanted this relationship! He had no clue as to why, but he really, really wanted it! The very idea of splitting made his own body rebel against him. Some part of him almost pushed him to say things out loud that he never thought he’d want to ever say at all, and he was barely able to stop himself. That was crazy; he still didn’t really know the man, why would he want to say such things to him? Unless…

“I had a dream last night,” he said vaguely, but Haruki’s expression went strangely alert. “I think it’s in my dreams that you wear white all the time.”

The next moment Haruki was suddenly very close to him, his hand raised to Tomomi’s face, guiding him to look up and into the eyes of the fortune-teller.

“Can you see my dreams through my eyes?” Tomomi asked evenly.

“No,” Haruki replied in a whisper, as if his voice abandoned him. “But perhaps one day I might see _my_ dreams in them. If you let me look from time to time.”

“Will you go then?” Tomomi smiled.

“If you wish me to,” Haruki nodded and brought their faces closer in for a sweet long kiss.

They stood there, touching each other, not really hugging, as if that was inappropriate in some way, but still desirable.

“Do you still wanna watch that movie?” Tomomi suggested eventually.

“Yes. Especially at your place.”

“Ok. I actually tidied up yesterday,” Tomomi grinned sheepishly.

“I like your mess,” Haruki smiled at him. “It feels like home.”

Tomomi recoiled at hearing Haruki actually considered it a mess. Of course, he himself thought his house was a mess, but Haruki could’ve avoided pointing it out anyway.

“Well, I actually happen to own some stuff,” he said, looking around pointedly.

“You don’t live in a new place every year. But please don’t take what I said to heart. My manners are quite rustic, I didn’t mean to insult your housekeeping skills. I just meant to say that you don’t need to tidy up for my sake.”

Tomomi almost said that he didn’t do it for Haruki’s sake, but stopped himself. His own manners could do with some improvement.

 

The movie plan worked out quite well. They’d picked up some snacks at the corner shop and some DVDs at the rental, and had a great time commenting on the silly plot, encouraging themselves with some beer. Haruki’s comments were hilarious, at least, to Tomomi’s taste. He was quite well-versed in cinema and got all the references right, so Tomomi was able to share his most obscure associations and still be understood. After watching two films in a row, they went to stock up on snacks and dove into the third.

It turned out to be a great day. And not for the first time, to Tomomi’s surprise, a day spent with Haruki felt like time well-spent, even though Tomomi had been wary at first.

“Today you’re definitely the first one to take that shower,” Tomomi said lazily, as they were strewn across the sofa in a tangle of limbs, littered with empty packets of snacks.

Haruki didn’t comment on the obvious invitation, but gave him a light kiss and got up.

“Oh, wait,” Tomomi scrambled to his feet as well. “I’ll get you a dressing gown.”

Upon receiving the garment, Haruki brought the collar up to his face and smelled it.

“It’s clean!” Tomomi exclaimed, flabbergasted.

“That’s a pity,” Haruki said in a soft, velvety voice that made Tomomi’s hair shiver. “Your skin has a very nice scent.”

With that he was off to the shower, and Tomomi stayed, red like a Chinese lantern.

 

Tomomi found his own bed to be much more suitable for making love than Haruki’s bedroll, and Haruki agreed, once he’d caught his breath — he tended to be quite vocal during intercourse.

“Are you sure you’re not in any pain?” Tomomi asked next, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“Completely sure,” Haruki mumbled into the sheet. He was lying on his stomach, totally relaxed, almost seeping through the bed. Tomomi wondered if the man had had sex recently and thus was in good shape, but asking about that seemed inappropriate. Instead he brushed off long damp hair covering the man’s perfect otherworldly face and bent in for a kiss.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Haruki chuckled, and Tomomi blinked to focus his eyes. “You’re falling asleep in the middle of things. I suppose you must be really tired.”

“Sorry,” Tomomi realised he was barely keeping his eyes open. “Didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“That’s fine,” Haruki said softly and moved closer, so their heads rested on the same pillow. “I’ll guard your sleep.”

Whatever that meant, Tomomi simply switched off that moment.

 

He dreamed again. This time it wasn’t anything specific, neither an image nor a story that he could retell. It was more like a chain of attitudes. Echoes of conversations, not making any sense per se, but creating an atmosphere. Shadows of words hanging in the air.

“I think we should get up,” a real voice touched his ears.

He blinked awake, the veil of dream still clouding his vision. He saw a familiar face, features tender.

“Seimei,” he said, and smiled. “I’ve made you wait.”

The features blurred and became alert. Drowsiness lifted.

“Morning,” Tomomi said, rubbing his eyes.

“What did you just call me?” Haruki whispered with a strange, tense expression.

“Err, did I call you anything at all?” Tomomi managed, fearing that Mitsuo somehow made it into his bed again even just as a name. He tried to think back. The dream was not too far off, but it was elusive. Echoes, shadows…

Haruki was still staring at him, his gaze almost sparkling with electricity.

“I, err,” Tomomi scratched his head. It was real after all, wasn’t it. How odd. “I guess I can tell you with some certainty now. He knew. I mean, that you loved him. He definitely knew.”

He wasn’t looking at Haruki and couldn’t place the noise the man made.

“I’m still not him though,” he added quietly.

“I know,” Haruki said and was off to the bathroom before Tomomi caught sight of him.

 

The wait for Tomomi’s friends to come and pick them up was dreary. Haruki was lost in thought and Tomomi didn’t know what to think. The dream evaporated completely and left only the feeling of guilt and grief, and there was nothing for him to distract himself with.

“Listen,” he said eventually, trying to start a conversation before his friends arrived and noticed something was wrong. “If you’ve lived so long, you must’ve met other reincarnations of people you knew. How much do they normally retain?”

Haruki shook his head.

“I have, but I didn’t know them closely enough to tell. I try to avoid getting close to people. It gets difficult… later.”

Tomomi processed that.

“Ok, but, I mean, what did you expect… I mean, in what way did you expect me to, erm…”

Haruki shook his head.

“I don’t know. A person’s soul is their personality plus the memories of their experience. However, when a soul reincarnates, it loses all memories. But what is a personality without them? Who knows.”

“But I mean,” Tomomi licked his lips, “all this time you were, well, looking for his reincarnation. So what did you think you’d find? What were you expecting to happen?”

“I never looked purposefully,” Haruki said. “I assumed if it were destined, we’d meet again. But I never thought past the meeting itself. I suppose I was scared to think about what would happen next.”

Tomomi didn’t know what to say. He felt sorry for Haruki, but also for himself. He wanted to hug the man and soothe his distress, but knew that there was no soothing, and that his own distress would only grow. He wanted to ask if there was anything he could do to help, but knew there was probably nothing, or if there was, it would burn him like grabbing red-hot embers with bare hands. He wanted to get out of this relationship and wash his hands clear of this nasty business, yet he was afraid to lose Haruki or let him slip into even deeper sorrow.

He was totally stuck. But it wasn’t his nature to let himself brood silently. He knew it wasn’t a solution, he knew he was going to hurt himself, and he was completely sure now that this would end so much worse than the Mitsuo thing, but still it was an action he could take.

He came up to Haruki’s bent form and gently touched his hair, sliding his hand over silky strands.

“Seimei,” he said and felt the man give a start. “Please don’t be so sad. It’s painful to see you like this.”

Haruki leaned into the touch.

“Say it again,” he bade.

“Seimei,” Tomomi repeated, feeling like an impostor. He didn’t know what that name stood for. Who was this Seimei? Why did Haruki introduce himself differently if that were his real name? Was his surname real? He’d said it was, but…

Wait.

Seimei. Abe?

The house with snickering lion dogs on the gate.

The only home was not for sale, or something like that.

Amulets, good luck charms and fortune telling.

“Well, hit me with your deductions,” the man from the past suggested, an amused smile on his face.

“You are the…” Tomomi blurted out but trailed off, unsure of what to say so as not to sound too cliché or say something funny and wrong.

“Yes,” Seimei’s smile grew broader. “You know now why I don’t use my real name. It would’ve been too blatant to call myself Abe no Seimei while running an ‘esoteric shop’ as you put it, wouldn’t it? Presumptuous even. You look like you want to ask something?”

“Why are there lion dogs on the shrine gate?” Tomomi asked. “I mean, why not foxes?”

Seimei snorted.

“I have no idea, I wasn’t the one to make it into a shrine. I left the country as soon as… well,” he faltered. “I left when there was nothing to keep me here. And the next time I came back, the shrine was in place. So don’t ask me.”

Tomomi was still gathering his wits when he got a message from Mei. He read it and moaned.

“She wants me to bring the guitar,” he explained, waving his phone in the air. “Man, I really don’t want to.”

“Why not?” Haruki raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just so not in the mood,” he complained. “And all this bulky stuff… I was just going to have a day off. But she says others are bringing their instruments too, so we’re gonna have a music day outside. But the other guys don’t do this for a living!”

“Would you like me to enchant her to forget about her wish to hear you play for a while?” Haruki asked in full seriousness.

Tomomi froze.

“Er, no, not really. I’d rather you didn’t enchant my friends at all, to be honest.”

“It won’t hurt them, but as you wish. I doubt I can help in any other way though.”

“Maybe you could bring your flute?” Tomomi suggested. “I mean, that’d be a real surprise.”

Haruki looked at him intensely for a bit, but eventually nodded.

 

They walked over to Haruki’s place to collect the flute and also to get a change of clothes for Haruki. Tomomi was surprised to see that the man only owned two white items, although he kept imagining Haruki in white.

“You said memories are lost when reincarnating,” he brought up that topic again. “Then how am I remembering stuff?”

“I think it may be that some of my memories are rubbing onto you,” Haruki offered, reverently closing the flute box.

Tomomi thought about it. It didn’t seem likely. If it were the case, then wouldn’t he be seeing things from Haruki’s point of view? Or at least from aside? But he was definitely seeing them out of Hiromasa’s eyes.

“He really felt guilty about having to die, you know,” Tomomi said, making Haruki still his movement. “I mean, do you think, he could have left some part of him behind in any way?”

Haruki shook his head.

“I can’t imagine that happening. He knew such things are not to be meddled with. If anything, he should’ve wanted to reincarnate fully and as soon as possible.”

“But I understand it’s been quite a long time, no?”

Haruki nodded.

“He might have been born again a few times already, but fate never brought us together until now.”

Tomomi frowned. He couldn’t imagine what Haruki had been through — knowing that your most precious person is alive somewhere, but having no way to find him… No wonder he basically flew off the hinge when he finally met Tomomi.

 

At that point they heard the cars outside.

The drive was mostly fun. They went up to the mountains in two cars, and Haruki was being friendly and likeable. Girls took pictures with him because he was the esoteric guy and a good-looking one at that, and Haruki even gave them each a good-luck charm of his own making (even though Tomomi couldn’t remember him packing any to go). Interestingly, Haruki wasn’t at all photogenic, almost as if a great part of his attractiveness was a result of some kind of mental influence on others. On the pictures he just looked bland and forgettable, and no amount of filtering helped.

“Why is that?” Tomomi asked in a whisper while the girls were busy pitying Haruki and trying to come up with a way to take a favourable picture of him.

“Cameras can’t catch fox charm,” the man chuckled quietly, looking to be thoroughly amused by his own deceptiveness. “Very convenient for passport photos.”

Time flew by and Tomomi was mostly enjoying himself, happy that the esoteri- _Seimei_ blended in so well with his friends.

 _He must’ve learnt to adapt, having lived through so many times and cultures_ , Tomomi thought.

And then it came to the music.

“Wait, you didn’t bring it?” one of his friends asked when Tomomi admitted to having left the guitar at home. “Heeey, that’s unfair, man! Why would we even bring you here!”

“To enjoy my wonderful personality,” Tomomi curved his lips. “I needed a day off, okay?”

“Jeez, I was going to have a perfect musical weekend! Some modern guitar today and then some classical flute tomorrow.”

“Well, if you ask really nicely, Haruki might entertain you with some classical flute today,” Tomomi suggested.

Haruki gave him a shocked look.

“ _Me?_ ”

“Yeah,” Tomomi shrugged. “You said you used to play it, right?”

Haruki looked like he was searching for escape routes.

“It was a very long time ago, I’ve probably forgotten everything.”

“But this kind of stuff is body memory,” Mei chimed in. “You’ll probably remember if you try. Did you bring a flute?”

“Yes,” Tomomi said, unsure as to why Haruki was being so shy. It didn’t seem like him. He was odd in many ways, but definitely not self-conscious.

Haruki gave him a very long and a very strange look, but Tomomi held it, hoping to be encouraging. Eventually the other man got up and went back to the car park to get his instrument.

The whole scene was taking place at a small tea shop halfway up the mountain. It sold souvenirs to those climbing up for a shrine visit on the top, but also offered drinks and snacks to frequenters like Tomomi’s gang. The shop owner didn’t mind them playing on the terrace overhanging a cliff, and the view was perfect. Sounds travelled right off the mountain and into the valley, carried by the wind, almost unheard on the path up the hill.

Haruki came back with the box and handed it to Tomomi.

“Why are you giving it to me?” he looked confused.

“Open it for me,” Haruki asked, busying himself with gulping down some tea.

Tomomi shrugged and fumbled with the clasp on the side of the box. The lid opened, revealing the instrument. It was a bamboo flute, but darkened with age, almost black really, smooth and shiny and a little uneven, with a thin leather ribbon tied between two bamboo joints.

He lifted his eyes to find Haruki standing before him, waiting.

“Here,” Tomomi said, pulling the flute out from its case. “Please, try to remember. I’d really like to hear something, you know, _traditional._ ”

And he meant, ancient.

Haruki took the instrument with both hands and a slight bow, all the time keeping eye contact. If anyone thought he was acting weird, they didn’t comment. He moved a few steps back, coming to the edge of the terrace and finally looked away, bringing the instrument to his face.

It looked like he struggled with starting, so he just stood there, the mouthpiece some inches from his mouth, and then again he dashed a quick look at Tomomi. He nodded, prompting. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Haruki finally touched the instrument to his lips, and the music began.

It was so odd. Tomomi had heard it before, most certainly, on TV, or, perhaps, as a background in a restaurant. At the same time, it was completely new. Deeper, tenser, more dramatic, with more voice to it than a human singer. It guided his mind through flashy court festivals and spooky woods, over the smooth surface of a lake and high up into the mountains. It was all coming back. Seimei, in his white hunting costume, always holding a small earthenware cup of wine, always a foxy expression on his face, unspoilt even by the hideous hairdo typical for the period. It was all coming back: demons and gods, despair and relief, ceremony and wilderness. The taste of grilled koi, the smell of unwashed bodies and the acceptance of all that as the norm. It was within grasp. Just move a little closer, reach a little further, and there he could have it. He could _be_ it.

With a gasp, he pulled back and bumped his spine into the wall of the tea shop. At the same time he heard the tune falter and saw Seimei- no, Haruki turn his face away and press the flute to his chest, as if protecting a treasure.

It was _Hiromasa’s_ flute!

How had he failed to realise it!? All those probing looks, all that expectancy…

And Hiromasa was still there, about him. This time he was no dream, no phantom of a sleepy mind. He was there, all around, waiting to be let in. Was he being a fool for denying this part of himself? He could hear the quiet hiss of Hiromasa’s silken sleeves on the floor. He could feel the pull of his hair tied into a bun. He could sense the frustration and longing of a man who wasn’t allowed to reach his utmost craving, the person standing at the edge of the terrace, cradling the flute, his last memory of the one he loved.

“Sorry,” Haruki managed in a broken voice. “I really don’t think I can do this.”

Tomomi’s fingertips tingled. He really wanted to take the flute from Seimei and play it, and ease his sorrow. But it wasn’t his to take, and _Tomomi_ never learnt to play the flute.

At that moment he received a sharp jab to the ribs and turned to see Mei, looking like a carnival mask of a demon.

“Why are you sitting!?” she hissed. “Go hug him or something!”

And he went, pushed by duty and heartache and held this man who wasn’t his and was never going to be, and yet was the only person he ever wanted to hold.

 

He more or less missed the rest of the outing. His friends played some tunes, but those didn’t ring with him. The idea of ever taking a guitar in his hands felt foreign. Hiromasa’s hands were craving for the flute; Tomomi felt big lungs inflating next to his own.

Haruki somehow pulled himself back together and put on a mask of amusement, but Tomomi could see it cracking at the edges, and the necessity of communication was a heavy load for his mind. He was desperate to talk to Haruki alone, but there was no such opportunity.

It was a great relief to finally get a drive back and wave goodbye to his friends, hoping their day off hadn’t been completely ruined by his brooding.

As the cars left, Tomomi turned and followed Haruki into the house to shelve the flute, and then through the house onto the deck, where the insane collection of blossoming plants was giving off a heady fragrance, completely ignoring Christmas season. Haruki drew a deep breath.

“You should go home,” he said in his deep, even voice.

Tomomi gulped. He suspected Haruki was upset and not in the mood, but he was hoping that a proper caress could alleviate that at least somewhat, besides, he had no idea how he was going to sleep that night with Hiromasa’s spirit constantly probing his way into Tomomi’s body. He needed help, but even more than that, he needed reassurance.

“I thought maybe we could…” he started, but got self-conscious and turned at the end, “watch a movie or something?”

Haruki shook his head slowly.

“No, Tomomi. I know you’re too kind to tell me to get out of your life, so I’ll save you the trouble.”

“What do you mean?” Tomomi gasped, feeling the skin on his face creep. He wasn’t going to be… No, please, not now, not by this man! He needed him so desperately, he was in trouble, he was losing to Hiromasa overtaking him bit by bit…

“It is as you said from the beginning,” Haruki began talking, sounding distant and uninterested, but he was still looking over the garden and not at Tomomi. “You are not him. I was blind. Or rather, I was deceiving myself. I really wanted to be blind. But I have finally woken up from my sweet dream. I am sorry I gave you all those memories. I am sorry I messed you up. But here it ends.”

He fell silent and waited for a response. None came for some time, and he was starting to consider turning around to look what Tomomi was up to, when he heard barely a whisper,

“You too then.”

Seimei did turn.

“Too?”

“Fine,” Tomomi said through gritted teeth, looking away, his chest heaving. “If it’s him you want, there you go! I will let him through! He wants to get out so much, you want to have him so much, I’ll just step aside and let you two loving souls unite! No one needs _me_ anyway! I’m just a means, so here you go, take it, Tomomi’s last gift!”

“What are you talking about!?” Seimei exclaimed, staring at the man in confusion.

“I’ll let him take over my body, that’s what!” Tomomi snapped, his eyes burning with the triumph of despair.

Seimei backed off, horrified at the black aura that he’d never noticed until that moment.

“You can’t do that!” he tried to reason.

The blackness around Tomomi grew thicker and started swirling, twisting into a spiral with Tomomi’s heart being the centre, the outer edges sweeping autumn leaves from the deck. Why was this happening? How did Seimei miss his lover driving himself into a state like this?

“Yes I can,” he growled in a hoarse voice. “Like I said, no one will miss me. I’m just an afterthought. You know,” he gave a strained laugh, “I have a twin sister. My parents didn’t want to have another child, but they wanted a girl, so they allowed me to be born as well. And it’s always been like that. I am a means, a method, a side effect. Mitsuo wanted to lay the band manager, so he used me to get to him. The band manager wanted my father to do the marketing for the band, so he hired me into it. And now you — this!”

He took a breath and continued with renewed energy, his face twisted into a grimace Seimei never thought he’d see on this man, the black aura swooshing all around him in mad circles, lifting and scattering around deck chairs.

“No one needs me for myself, I should’ve accepted it long ago, but I still had hope. Well, I guess I’ve been an idiot for that, and it’s time I finally do something smart. I’ll let you have your Hiromasa! I’ll just let him take me over! And you can have all the rest of the life of my body to yourselves! There!!!”

“You can’t do that!” Seimei tried to yell back, but the wind was so strong, it blew his words right back into his mouth. “Hiromasa is dead! You can’t call him forth into the world of the living! You already have his soul, but all the rest, his memories and desires — that is all a mononoke! You’ll just turn yourself into a demon!”

“Well, it’s your job to deal with demons!” Tomomi cried, the last sounds of his voice drowning in the roar of the wind, and the blackness consumed him completely. And through the blackness, a familiar silhouette stepped out. Black robes and a court hat, face peaceful and welcoming, and so painfully dear.

A light shone in those eyes, a light that flooded the garden and made the darkness go away, and the wind died, and the arms opened to accept Seimei. Just three steps, and he could touch that face, hear that breath again and find a home in this alien world. Just three steps and he didn’t have to be alone anymore…

 

* * *

He blinked awake to register a dreary morning. It was overcast and snowing in large soft chunks of snow, slowly drifting down uneven paths. The garden was gone. It wasn’t just covered with snow, but replaced by it. There were no bushes or trees, or even flowers and grasses where the day before a whole firework used to grow.

Haruki was sitting a few paces away, leaning on the pole. His eyes were closed, his face grey. He looked older, too. As if he’d spent his youth elsewhere. Spent, yes, that was how he looked.

“I exorcised him,” Haruki said, his voice broken beyond repair. “I exorcised Hiromasa. The mononoke of him that you and I created from our desires and my memories.”

Silence fell once again. Tomomi had to use all of his strength to push himself up and saw a small suitcase propped next to the doorframe.

“It’s time for me to go,” Haruki answered his unasked question.

“Where?” Tomomi whispered, discovering that his own voice was gone as if he’d spent the night at the karaoke.

Haruki shrugged.

“Wherever the first flight with available seats is bound to.”

With that he heaved himself to his feet, seeming so much heavier than he’d ever been.

“Farewell.”

Tomomi felt tears well up.

“So you’ll just leave me,” his voice, moistened, finally came through. “Is there- is there anything at all I can do to make you stay?”

Haruki turned to look at him for the first time during this conversation. His eyes were infinitely sad.

“Why would you want that? To get hurt and messed up even more? I think I’ve done enough damage. Fate has been wise not to bring us together for this whole time. I guess I’m still not ready. Hurting you was all I did.”

“Will it hurt _you_ to stay?” Tomomi was able to gain some control over his body and sat back, folding his legs.

“What do you think? After I exorcised the only person who’s ever loved me?”

“But-“ Tomomi gasped for air before he was able to say it, “But I love you too! Doesn’t that mean anything to you!?”

Haruki flashed an angry and incredulous look at him, almost regaining some power in his outrage.

“We’ve known each other for two weeks. You have no idea who I am or _what_ I am,” he snapped.

Tomomi held his look.

“I don’t need much time to fall in love.”

Haruki flinched and looked touché’ed.

“You don’t need much time to fall out of it either.”

“Even with you?”

Tomomi finally rose to his feet and strode over to Haruki, who stared at him with disbelief and pain, but also hope.

“We were destined to meet,” Haruki muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Tomomi. “But the other things, the feelings… that was not predetermined. It was a circumstantial thing, we spent too much time together. There’s no reason to believe that another time it would-“

“But I want to believe it,” Tomomi said. “Maybe it wasn’t predetermined. Maybe it just happens naturally.”

Haruki shook his head.

“You can’t possibly…”

“I love you,” Tomomi said simply. “I know I broke down and said a lot of things to spite you, but still I am ready to give up my life to let you be happy.”

“No, no, no!” Haruki grabbed his wrists. “You already share the same soul. And I told you before, no other part of Hiromasa survives. And there’s no need. It’s not his memories or his skills that I miss. I thought he was the only one who could…”

Tomomi sighed.

“I don’t know what you had with him, and I probably can’t give you what you want most. But perhaps I could give you at least something?”

“What I want most is the only home I’ve ever known. What Hiromasa and I shared is gone and it will never come back. And the man I loved will never walk the Earth again, not in you, nor in any other incarnation. I can’t have that back no matter what. So if I am ever to be happy again, I have to look elsewhere.”

“Will you at least consider looking here?” Tomomi suggested, his voice hopeful.

“I would very much love to,” Haruki smiled and let relief flood both of them, and breathing suddenly became so easy. He rested his forehead in the crook of Tomomi’s neck, and Tomomi wrapped his arms around him, building a home.

Some time passed before either spoke.

“My landlord is going to kill me,” Haruki predicted eventually. “I called him this morning to cancel the contract, and now I have to restore it again.”

“Would you like to share my mess?” Tomomi offered. “I have a spare room you could use for receiving clients.”

“That would mean you’d have to face ‘a whole new level of weird’ right in the safety of your home,” Haruki warned.

“Well, he dealt with it somehow, so I guess, I can as well,” Tomomi shrugged. “Especially if you introduce it gradually. I could even learn the flute, you know, if you wish me to play it.”

“Thank you,” Haruki rubbed his cheek over Tomomi’s shirt. “I do wish, but not for me, and certainly not because it belonged to Hiromasa. I just honestly think your music will make so much more sense that way.”

Tomomi snorted.

“You know, when I was a kid, my guitar teacher said, playing the flute blows one’s soul out. I’ve always been wary of that.”

“Don’t worry,” Haruki reassured. “I won’t let anything happen to this soul of yours. Now that I know what it stands for, it is the most precious thing in the world for me. Because I have a home in it.”

“Well, let’s go home then,” Tomomi smiled, and it was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd appreciate any feedback or critique you can give me. This was an experimental work quite outside my comfort zone, and I have no idea if it works at all.


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